


that damn ladder

by saturnblushes (writingforhugs)



Series: christmas AUs (MCU) [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A&E AU, ER AU, Hospital Setting, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, christmas fiascos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingforhugs/pseuds/saturnblushes
Summary: Bucky falls from a ladder. Steve gets attacked by cold air.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: christmas AUs (MCU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581799
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	that damn ladder

**Author's Note:**

> meet cute in the A&E. all mistakes mine, let me know if you find any.

“Jesus Christ, ma,” Bucky said, as his mother slammed on the brakes so they wouldn’t run a red. In the back beside him, letting him rest his head against her thigh, Becca had one hand braced on the seat in front, the other hanging onto the hold above her window.

“It’s fine!” Winifred snapped back, her voice higher than usual, turning her Brooklyn accent, which she usually toned down, up to full, effervescent volume. Bucky covered his face with his free hand, keeping the other firmly over the bleeding cut on the side of his head. That was where the ringing sound was emanating from, as well as the dull, persistent throb.

“Jamie, are you okay?” his mother asked, peering at him through the rear-view mirror.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, but he couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice. At least he wasn’t slurring like he had been for a few minutes when he’d woken up, splayed flat on his back at the bottom of the ladder, a string of Christmas lights wound around his elbow and his ma screaming that he was dead to Becca, who’d only been home three hours from college and was probably already wishing she was back in Indiana.

“Rebecca, check him please,” Winifred said, the car lurching forward. She was driving pretty recklessly for a woman who believed that her son had irreparable spinal damage, but no one was about to say anything.

Becca rolled her eyes but she’d been looking pretty pale ever since she’d tumbled down the steps and found the source of their mother’s screams. There had been blood oozing into a puddle around Bucky’s head which hadn’t helped things.

She pried back the cloth he was holding to his head and quickly pressed it back.

“Still going,” she said, and Bucky looked up at her through his fingers. God, he’d missed her. He supposed they both should’ve guessed shit was going to hit the fan pretty quickly, as it tended to do at the Barnes household.

“Don’t worry, we’re nearly there,” Winifred announced, as someone honked angrily outside.

“You okay?” Becca asked quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbled. He offered her a weak smile. “Sorry for bleeding on you.”

He’d gotten blood on one of her nice shirts.

“It’s fine,” she said, grinning at him. She glanced up out the window and then looked down again. “Just be glad dad isn’t here.”

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, because he couldn’t think of anything worse. George was currently out of state, doing some last minute work before taking a break over Christmas. He was due back this afternoon and had promised to be home as soon as he could after hearing that Bucky was en-route to Maria Stark Memorial, but then Bucky had texted him himself and said that he was fine, honestly, and to finish up whatever he needed to do before trying to race home.

“I told you the ladder wasn’t big enough,” Becca said.

“Fuck off,” Bucky replied, but she was right. The ladder hadn’t been tall enough to reach where the lights were intended to be and he’d thought he was a few inches taller than he actually was. So yeah, that drop to the ground had been pretty enlightening, and a pretty big blow to his ego. Becca would wait until he’d been bandaged and sent home before teasing him about it, so he had at least that long to steel himself.

Finally they arrived at Memorial, Winifred somehow finding space to park while Becca ran for someone so they could get an (unnecessary, Bucky thought) wheelchair, and then Winifred was opening the side door and helping him sit up properly.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, hands fluttering around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, ma,” Bucky said, wincing as he sat upright and set his feet down on the concrete, which helped somewhat with the way the world tilted left and then right. Maybe the chair was a good idea after all. “The ladder’s old.”

“I asked you to go up there,” his mom said. She sounded upset, and when he lifted his head and opened his scrunched-shut eyes, she was teary-eyed and looking wracked with guilt. Bucky reached for her. Winifred Barnes was not someone easily scared, generally unflappable. So seeing her like this was enough to make his stomach turn.

“Ma,” he said, but she was taller than him while he sat half out of the car, and he couldn’t hug her to him like he’d been able to do since he was fifteen. So she hugged him instead, putting her arms carefully around his shoulders and head, mindful of the gash, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Bucky put his free arm around her and closed his eyes again, breathing in and out until a sudden wave of nausea subsided.

“I’m fine,” he said after a moment. “It’s not your fault.”

It felt nice, being held by her. He was a grown man, sure, but he was _only_ twenty-five, and, like, mom was mom. And right now he needed her solid presence more than he had for a long time.

“Jamie?” said Becca, worry filling her voice at the sight of him. Winifred turned and Bucky saw an ER nurse hurrying towards them alongside Becca, pushing a wheelchair.

“Oh thank goodness,” Winifred said. “Hi, thank you so much,” she told the nurse, who was already assessing Bucky intently, her blonde ponytail bobbing, her brown eyes scanning over him.

“I’m Sharon,” she said, locking the chair into place. “Becca explained to me what happened.”

“Yep,” Bucky grunted, because the throbbing in his head had suddenly worsened. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“He’s not fine,” said Winifred, a hand still on his shoulder. “He’s been complaining about a headache and about his ribs, and there’s a gash on his head that won’t stop bleeding.”

“Right, well, we’ll take you down and get you checked out,” Sharon said calmly. “Any back pain, James?”

“No,” Bucky said. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not bad.”

Sharon took one of his arms, his mom the other, and they manoeuvred him into the chair.

“Did you land on your side? Your back? You front?”

“Side.”

“He was on his back when I got to him,” said Wini.

“Which side?” Sharon asked, and they began to move. She was stronger than she looked, pushing him with ease towards an elevator.

“Left,” Bucky confirmed.

“Was there a lot of bleeding from your head?”

“A puddle,” Becca said. “He sat up pretty quickly.”

“How long was he out?”

“Maybe a minute,” Wini replied. “I heard a shout and a clatter and—about a minute.”

“James, have you remained conscious for the journey here?”

Bucky nodded, hand holding the cloth in place balanced by his elbow on the armrest of the chair. He could remember every detail of that damn car ride.

“Dizziness?”

“Yeah.”

“Nausea?”

“Yep. But no memory loss. And no balance issues or confusion.”

They were in the elevator. Sharon was pressing the buttons and the doors were closing.

“You sound like you know a lot about concussion symptoms.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, because he really didn’t want to be talking. He just wanted a quiet room and a blanket.

“He was overseas,” Becca clarified, and Sharon nodded, so he didn’t say anything.

They burst out onto the ER after ten seconds or so, and it was surprisingly quiet. Bright and stinking of bleach but mercifully quiet. Sharon wheeled them over and signed them in, and then Becca helped him fill out his bullshit insurance details and then they were sat at the side waiting to be called. Sharon came over with some clean bandaging to hold to his head, taking a quick look at it before darting away.

His mom and Becca were given water, but he couldn’t have anything yet, so he just sat there and glowered at all the people around him, while Winifred calmed down from level 10 fretting to a nice even level 5, which included not letting go of his hand, which was nice, but also constantly asking if he felt okay, which was not as nice.

Before long they were seen to. A guy called Sam who had a gap in-between his front teeth and a sunflower sticker on his name badge. Sam wheeled Bucky into a consultation room where he was helped onto a bed and handed a cup of water. Then he shone lights into his eyes and tested his reflexes and listened to his chest.

Eventually he gave him something to numb the cut on his head, and then he went about cleaning the wound and sewing it shut.

“Six stitches,” he said. “Not too bad, actually.”

Then Bucky was lying back and Sam was getting him to move his toes and then helped him remove his shirt when he refused to have it cut away, and Becca whistled at the angry bruising already blooming over his left side.

Sam put one hand on Bucky’s wrist, another on his elbow, which was quite nice because Sam was kinda cute, and then he was rotating his arm at the socket.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Not great,” Bucky gritted out.

Sam prodded at his shoulder and elbow, then at his tender ribs.

“Initial assessment tells me nothing’s broken or fractured,” he said, scribbling down onto a clipboard. “I think landing on your side has saved you something potentially worse like a spinal injury, but you’ve bruised your shoulder and elbow and your ribs. We’ll do an x-ray to be sure but otherwise it’ll just be painkillers and rest.”

“And his head?” asked Wini, barely giving Bucky a moment to savour the fact that he wasn’t going to be paralysed or wrapped in plaster over the Christmas break, though by this point he’d figured that out for himself.

“A concussion,” Sam replied. “Sharon said you’d told her you’d just felt dizzy and nauseous, but you woke up pretty quickly and haven’t had any memory loss so I think it’s fairly mild. The slurring and length of unconsciousness is my main cause for concern at the moment, so I want you to go for a CT scan. That’ll clear up whether you’ve broken any bones and whether there’s anything more serious going on with the brain.”

“And how long will that take?” Bucky asked, thinking about how he didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to, and also how expensive this might all turn out to be. Maria Stark Memorial was good in terms of being upfront about medical costs and having excellent insurance guidance, but a hefty bill was the last thing he needed at this time of year.

“The scan itself? Five minutes,” Sam said. There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was reading Bucky’s mind. “We’ll get the results pretty quickly after that. If everything goes well, you should be out of here by five o’clock.”

“Good,” Bucky said, and then he leaned back and closed his eyes and let his mom and sister grill Sam. Eventually they ran out of questions and Bucky got some painkillers and a sling to support his shoulder, shortly before they were moved back into the waiting room to make space for another patient. They found a seat in the corner and Bucky wedged himself into a chair and put Becca’s coat over his head so he could feign silence and darkness.

The next hour consisted of him trying to sleep and his ma waking him up repeatedly to check on him. He couldn’t blame her though and his irritability had faded along with the pain, but when Becca suggested the two of them take a trip down to the cafeteria and get something hot to drink, and give Bucky some space, he was glad for her tact and timing.

“Text me when you’re going in for the scan,” she said just before they left, and he shot her a thumbs up and then tilted his head back against the wall again. It really wasn’t so bad, after all. The painkillers had worked a treat, as had the news that he had escaped major injury, and he had a feeling that the CT scan would come up miraculously free of issue, allowing Becca the moral clearance to joke about how enormous the cavity of his skull actually was.

He’d made it through sixteen levels of Tetris on his phone when someone sat down two seats away from him and began to make noticeably wheezy breathing sounds. Bucky looked around. The waiting room was dotted with people and everyone looked miserable, runny-nosed or holding some body part with a grimace. But no one, that he could see or hear, was making the sounds this person was making.

Bucky had been raised not to stare by he couldn’t help his gaze being drawn over. It was a man, built, with blond hair and a straight nose and a great jaw, and these real nice blue eyes, a deep, saturated colour unlike Bucky’s own washed-out ones. He was wrapped up in a huge coat and was holding his hand to his chest as he breathed in and out. He looked distressed, honestly, eyes a little wider than normal, one hand gripping the armrest, and Bucky didn’t like that.

“Hey,” he said, and then again when he didn’t respond. “Hey, man, are you alright?”

The man looked over at him and furrowed his brow.

“Are you okay? I don’t think you should be sat here if you’re making that sound.”

Perhaps not the most tactful he’d ever been, but he’d spent years overseas handling medical emergencies in insane situations and his bedside manner hadn’t had much time to improve.

The man took a breath and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he whispered.

Bucky shot him a look. “That’s what I keep saying and I knocked myself unconscious earlier today.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you okay?” he rasped.

“So far,” Bucky said. “Concussion, probably.”

The man nodded. He tilted his chin back a little and furrowed his brow. He seemed like he wasn’t having a great time.

“That sounds serious,” Bucky observed after a moment of listening. The man looked like he was in tip-top condition, but the rattling sound of every inhale and exhale spoke volumes.

“It’s just asthma,” the man said.

“You having an attack?”

“Earlier—getting better now.” The man swallowed, fishing into his pocket for an inhaler.

“And they just told you to wait?”

The man nodded and pressed down on the canister of his inhaler, breathing in. Bucky squinted. That hardly seemed right. The guy wasn’t blue in the face or anything but still—asthma was more serious than people gave it credit for.

“Was it the cold weather?” Bucky asked. The man nodded again. Bucky nodded too. The city had suddenly plunged into the low numbers, with frost and ice coating everything overnight and into the late morning before melting in the places where the sunlight was shining most.

The guy went back to focusing on breathing. He seemed to have everything under control but Bucky was mildly surprised that he hadn’t been seen to right away. The ER wasn’t dreadfully busy and if he was one of the nurses, he would’ve been assessing and treating this man asap, if only to get what was mostly a manageable ailment under control and allow him to get on with his day.

A few more minutes went by with no further conversation, so Bucky kept his ear out for the man’s breathing, which was slowly normalising, if still a little tight. When the man shifted in his seat and took off his coat, Bucky shifted forward to help him pull it off when he struggled.

“Thanks,” the man croaked.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “You sound a lot better now.”

“Yeah. I haven’t had one in years. Cold weather surprised me, I think. I’d gotten…” he coughed and winced. “I’d gotten complacent.”

Bucky nodded. “You’ll be alright.”

The man’s lips quirked up into a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve.” They shook hands. “How’d you knock yourself out?” Steve asked, piling his coat into his lap.

“Oh, uh, hanging Christmas lights. Ladder wasn’t tall enough, or I wasn’t, and I woke up with my ma screaming that I was dead.”

Steve’s face broke out into a grin and he choked on a laugh before quickly stopping himself and carefully levelling out his breathing again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said. “Wasn’t so funny to have blood pouring from my head.” Steve’s face switched to one of concern. “Six stitches,” Bucky said.

“You’re ever so brave,” Steve whispered. Bucky smirked. This guy was cute and funny. And breathing way better than he had been ten minutes ago. “What’re you waiting for now?”

“CT scan.”

“Worried?”

“Not really.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Cafeteria. My sister convinced her to give me some space.”

“I’m sure she means well.”

“Oh, yeah, she does. But, you know. I wasn’t feeling so great a few hours ago when she was shouting at the traffic on the drive here.” He shrugged and glanced at his phone. Becca had messaged him twice.

 **Becca:** _are u alright still Jamie??_

 **Becca:** _convinced mom to get some food as well. let me know if you’re okay big bro x_

He typed back a quick reply.

 **Me:** _I’m fine! Sat in the waiting room still. Take your time._

He pocketed his phone and looked back at Steve. “You here by yourself?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. He inhaled slowly and then let it out. “I was only a few blocks away when it started, so, lucky I guess.”

Bucky gaped. “You walked here as you had an asthma attack?”

“Well, no. I was…” he coughed again. “I was working when it happened. And I sat down until it was over. Then I walked over. If it wasn’t so bad I wouldn’t have come. But it’s been a while, so.” He shrugged.

“It freak you out?”

Steve exhaled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve worked hard not to put myself at risk anymore. So yeah, it did scare me.”

“Not enough to stop you from walking here.”

“I’m not paying for an ambulance.”

“A taxi?”

“Don’t wanna make some poor driver liable.” Bucky gave him a rueful look. Fair enough. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to risk getting blood on the seat of some taxi, though perhaps the drive would’ve been less stressful.

He was about to ask Steve another question when a nurse called over the crowd.

“Steven Rogers?”

“That’s me,” Steve said, pushing himself upright. He wobbled slightly and then righted himself. Bucky blinked at him. He was tall. He would’ve managed to hang the lights.

“Well, good luck,” Bucky offered. Steve looked over at the nurse and then back again, holding his coat to his body, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Um. Could you… could you come with me?”

Bucky stood up. “If you want.”

Steve looked embarrassed. “You don’t have to. I mean. You have that scan.”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky said. He looked at the awaiting nurse. “I’m meant to be waiting for a CT scan. Can I come with him?”

“I’ll let the desk know,” the nurse said. “But I’m not to blame if you pass out.”

“I’m steady as a rock,” Bucky said, and Steve smiled, and then they were walking out into the corridor.

They went into a little curtained-off space and Steve sat down in a chair. Bucky took his coat for him and texted Becca.

 **Me:** _still waiting but not in the waiting room anymore. Text me when you’re coming up._

The nurse was asking Steve a myriad of questions and then asked him to remove his shirt. Steve did so without fanfare, pulling a soft-looking sweater off and then unbuttoning the equally worn-looking shirt underneath and setting it aside, rolling his shoulders.

Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the pale expanse of freckled skin revealed to the air. Broad shoulders but with a narrow waist, defined without being showy. His coat and sweater hid it all. Bucky watched his pecs rising and falling as the nurse zipped around with a stethoscope, listening carefully. Steve was hot, undoubtedly so.

“Your breathing sounds a little ragged still but the airways have opened up again,” said the nurse, handing Steve his shirt for him to put back on. “You’re pretty sure it was the weather?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I was taken off medication six months ago and I’ve kept up with exercise and a good diet. And this is the first attack I’ve had since…” he looked away, thinking. “Since three years ago.”

“And how many times do you use your inhaler per week?”

“Maybe once. I carry it with me just in case but otherwise I don’t really think about it.”

“Alright, well, this sounds like an isolated incident,” said the nurse, turning to a computer and beginning to type. “I’m going to refer you to Dr Cho. She’s a specialist and she’ll check with you and decide if you need some different steroids. If you’ve been off LTRAs for six months it seems odd that you’d experience an attack now, so it could just be a delayed reaction, triggered by the cold. We ought to find out though. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds great, thank you,” Steve said, rubbing his hands on his thighs. The nurse turned back to the computer and Steve glanced over at Bucky, looking relieved. Bucky gave him a smile.

The curtain pulled aside and Sam appeared in the gap. “Hi Claire,” he addressed the nurse, and then, looking at Bucky, “Sharon told me you’d accompanied your friend here. We’re ready for you now.”

“Great,” Bucky said, standing. “You gonna be alright, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “Good luck with the scan. And your arm.”

Bucky jauntily lifted the sling up at him and grinned, and then ducked back through the curtain. Sam closed it securely and then they were walking down the corridor. Bucky shot off a quick text to Becca.

“Coincidence meeting your friend here, huh?” Sam said.

“Ah, actually, I don’t know him,” Bucky admitted. “We were sat by each other and just got talking. You know he walked multiple blocks to get here even though he couldn’t breathe properly?”

Sam looked tired. “Yeah, that’s Steve for you. Stubborn as a mule.”

“You know him?”

“Long time,” Sam said, smiling.

The CT scan in all took five minutes. Becca and his mom were outside waiting for him when he walked back through, Winifred notably calmer and returning to her usual practical state. That didn’t stop her rubbing her thumb over his cheek like he was a kid, though, nor gripping his free arm while they sat and waited for the results.

“Where’d you go after the waiting room?” Becca asked.

“Oh, uh, I went with this guy into a consultation room.”

Becca looked at him. “…Why?”

“He sat next to me. He’d had an asthma attack and it’d freaked him out a bit. So he asked me to come with him when he got checked up and I said sure.”

Winifred made a sound of exasperation. “James, honestly, you have got to stop saying yes to those kinds of things. You’ll end up involved something you’ll regret if you keep agreeing to do things for people.”

“He wasn’t inviting me to his remote cabin in the woods!” Bucky said, and when he lifted his arm he winced, because the painkillers were beginning to wear off. “It’s fine, ma. I think he just wanted company.”

“Was he cute?” Becca asked plainly. Bucky scoffed.

“He wouldn’t have said yes otherwise,” Wini scolded, and then Becca laughed and Bucky shot his mother a look.

“Pretty bold coming from the woman who forced her only son up a ladder just so he could hang some lights,” he said, and she glared at him, gripping his hand tightly.

“That’s not funny, Jamie,” she hissed, and he lifted her hand to his chest.

“I know. I’m sorry. And he was cute. The guy.”

“Did you get his number?” Becca asked.

“Yes, as he lay blue in the face on the floor, I took his phone and did it myself,” Bucky deadpanned.

“You two are terrible,” Winifred said. “Was he okay in the end?”

“Yeah. It was his first attack in three years, so, he obviously looks after himself.”

Becca made a gagging noise. “God, you see a dude with muscles and you can’t help yourself,” she said. “Was he blond?”

“Would it matter?”

“You have a type, big brother.”

Sam appeared a few doors down, cutting off anymore petty arguing, and beckoned them in for the results.

“Good news all around,” he began once they were all seated, turning the screen of his computer to show them the scan of Bucky’s brain, scrolling his finger over the mouse to slice through the layers. “All clear here, no signs of swelling, bleeding, bruising, anything.” He switched to the scan of the shoulder, and then the elbow and the ribs. “All clear here as well. James, I think luck has been on your side today.”

Bucky blew out a breath. He’d been pretty sure he was okay, but the confirmation took a load off his shoulders nevertheless.

“Thank you, Sam, so much.”

“Of course,” Sam replied. “I’ll prescribe you some painkillers, and once they run out, if you’ve still got head pain, come back and we’ll do a second check. The stitches will dissolve so just keep the wound clean. It was a bleeder though most head injuries are, but it was superficial, not anything to be massively concerned about.” He typed something into the computer and then returned his attention back to Bucky.

“As for your side, the bruising will take a few weeks to settle down, so I’d suggest keeping your arm in a sling during the day, just to keep the shoulder and elbow joints rested. The ribs will hurt the most, I’m afraid, but normal painkillers will be enough if that pain persists. Any difficulty breathing or stiffness in that arm, though, come straight back in. That’s the same for any back pain beyond general aches. Otherwise, just rest up. No climbing up ladders for at least a week, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.”

Sam stood with a smile. “Have a good evening,” he told them all, shaking Becca and Winifred’s hands and then leading them all out of the room.

After checking out at the desk, filling in all the necessary paperwork and grabbing some painkillers and swigging a dose down with some water from the cooler by the ER entrance, they headed out. Bucky was more than glad to leave, though the smack of the bitter air hitting him was unwelcome. They hurried to the parking lot, Becca calling shotgun, and then they were bundled into the car.

“You okay, Jamie?” Winifred asked, rubbing her hands together as the engine started.

“Just fine, ma. The headache will be gone soon.”

“Dad has ordered Thai food,” Becca said from the passenger seat. George had got stuck in traffic until forty minutes previous, so Wini had just called him and said they’d be home soon and to get something for dinner. “And he says he’s glad you’re okay, Jamie.”

Bucky’s attention was mostly elsewhere, though, because as they circled through the parking lot, he saw a now-familiar figure stood by the main entrance, shrouded in light from the ER behind him.

“Ma, wait!” he said, and Winifred gasped, _what, what, what’s wrong?!_ “That’s the guy I was talking to,” he said, pointing. “Can you pull over?”

Winifred obliged and the car came to a halt just in front of Steve, who had now wondered down the sidewalk a little, face lit by his cell phone, coat back on, a hat shoved over his head.

Bucky wound down the window. “No way you’re walking home again,” he said, and Steve jumped, looking around and then focusing on him.

“Oh, no,” he laughed briefly, eyes darting to Becca and Winifred eyeing him from the front seats. “I’m actually gonna call a friend, get her to pick me up.”

Becca’s window was rolling down. “Honey, you’re more than welcome to grab a ride with us,” Winifred said, leaning across. Steve’s eyes widened and he stepped forward a little more.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“It’s no imposition at all. Jamie told us that you’d had a bit of an ordeal.”

Steve glanced back at Bucky. “Hardly an _ordeal_ ,” he said.

“Just get in, Steve, please,” Bucky said. “Where’re you headed?”

Steve rattled off an address.

“We pass by there all the time,” Winifred said. “I’d be happy to take you. Save your friend the journey and you having to wait in the cold and dark.”

Steve hesitated again.

“Hey, I’m concussed, so you have to do as I ask,” Bucky told him, and Steve smiled at the ground, and then shook his head.

“Alright, okay,” he said, and Bucky unlocked his door and unbuckled and slid across to the other seat so Steve could get in. Once everyone was secure, they drove on, and Bucky idly thought about how weird it was to be sat in the back of his ma’s car like this, being driven around like he was a little kid.

“Thanks,” Steve said quietly, when Becca and Winifred had delved into a discussion about the Christmas song on the radio.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky told him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Steve.”

“Thanks for coming in with me. I know that was… kind of weird.”

“No, I get it. It was cool of you to ask. Considering we were strangers and I was probably looking at you funny because of the concussion.”

“So the lazy eye isn’t just the way you look?” Steve quipped back, and they both laughed and then stopped and then looked away and then looked back to find both of them still smiling like idiots.

“Hey, I look good all the time. Especially with this,” Bucky said, pointing to the bandage stuck just above his ear.

“So it was a concussion, then? Nothing serious?”

“Yeah, just a concussion. No broken bones. I think I’ll be alright.”

“Good,” Steve said, and he sounded like he meant it.

They chatted about the city for a moment, comparing their respective neighbourhoods. Both lived in Brooklyn, as it turned out, closer than they realised. Bucky explained that he was staying at his parent’s place over the holidays, renting out his apartment to his buddy until just before New Year’s, when he would be holding NYE celebrations.

“You should come,” Bucky said, and in his peripheral vision he saw Becca twitch as she listened in even harder, without missing a step in her conversation with Winifred.

“What?” Steve said.

“To the party. I think inviting you to Christmas dinner would maybe be too much—” he lowered his voice and gestured. “—not that mom would mind. But you’re definitely welcome to New Year’s at my place. It’ll be pretty informal. Feel free to bring a friend if they’re classy.”

“I thought you said it was pretty informal.”

“It is, but I still have standards, Steve. You barely make it through as it is.”

Steve smiled at his hands. “I’ll bring a classy friend.”

“Is that the friend you were gonna have collect you?”

Steve looked up. “Yeah.”

“Okay, yeah, bring them.”

Steve held his gaze for a moment. Bucky felt his stomach swoop. God, Steve was cute. And that wasn’t the painkillers talking.

“Give me your number and I can text you the details,” he blurted, and Steve nodded, eyes creasing at the corners. Bucky handed him his phone and Steve typed away. Bucky texted him his address, the time the celebrations began, and what he should bring, aside from himself and his classy friend.

“Is it just here?” Winifred asked, and Steve and Bucky seemed to almost jolt out of the moment, remembering where they were.

Steve peered through the window. “Yes, thank you, this is perfect.”

Winifred pulled to a stop and Steve got out. “Thank you again, so much,” he said. “This was really kind of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Winifred. “Thank you for keeping my boy company.”

“Ah,” Steve chuckled. “I think it was the other way around.” He turned to look fully at Bucky. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “See you later.”

A quick round of goodbyes from everyone, and then Steve was stepping away onto the sidewalk and Winifred was pulling back out into the road. There was silence for thirty seconds, and then Winifred said, “He is rather lovely looking, Jamie.”

“Ma,” Bucky protested, gingerly readjusting his sling.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Becca said. “That fugly bandage over half your head and you still get some dude’s number.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked down at his phone. He typed before he could overthink it.

 **Me:** _Let me know when you’re back safe._

Steve’s reply came a minute later.

 **Steve:** _just got in. thank your mom again. And thanks so much for humouring me today._

 **Me:** _good. And it’s not a problem._

 **Me:** _I promise you’re welcome to new years at mine btw. I wasn’t just saying it bc I’m concussed or whatever._

 **Steve:** _i know. I didn’t just say yes to make you feel better ;)_

 **Me:** _you mean I can’t use that excuse again?_

 **Steve:** _not on my watch_

Six days later, on Christmas Day, Bucky took five minutes in the morning to stand in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, where he was alone and the house was relatively calm, to text Steve. They’d been messaging on and off in the days since the hospital incident, Bucky mostly to make sure Steve was alright, but also because Steve was cute and seemed nice and it was an asshole thing to stop texting him and make him feel awkward about whether he was still invited to New Years.

 **Me:** _happy Christmas, steve! my sling is cramping my Christmas sweater unfortunately. hope you have a good day._

He didn’t get a reply for a few hours, but once he did, it made him feel all warm inside.

 **Steve:** _happy Christmas, bucky! I can hardly believe it can ruin your looks._

 **Steve:** _have a good day :)_

Bucky ignored the pounding of his heart. _I can hardly believe it can ruin your looks_. God, what was this for him to be grinning like an idiot just from one line?

 **Me:** _you’re very kind. Stay inside, alright? No snow shovelling for you old man._

 **Steve:** _I wouldn’t think of it. you keep away from ladders._

…

On New Year’s Eve, Bucky was organising the last bits and pieces before his first guests arrived, and trying not to think about Steve, and about Steve knocking on his door and being in his apartment. Clint had taken good care of it and was coming back to attend the festivities, and Bucky had invited a whole host of others. It looked to be a good night. Even if Steve didn’t turn up in the end.

But Steve did. Almost an hour later than it had started, but he was there, bundled up with a scarf, hat, and coat, holding a nice bottle of wine and a box of homemade brownies – _my mom’s recipe, the best there is_ – and with a stunning red-head on his arm.

Bucky felt himself deflate a little at the sight, but it became evident pretty quickly that Steve and Natasha were just good friends, and that Bucky was going to become friends with her just as fast as he did with Steve, and that Clint was about ready to propose the second he saw Nat knocking back a shot and immediately pouring one for him.

Bucky tried to mill around and see all his guests, but he kept coming back to Steve. Not that Steve was having a hard time with a dozen strangers or anything, but he was new to the crowd, and Nat had been holed up in the tiny kitchen with Clint for most of the evening.

He was stood admiring Bucky’s bookshelf, standing a head taller than half the room, shoulders and chest encased in a crisp blue Oxford shirt, black jeans and black shoes, the perfect mix of classy and casual. Bucky wanted to run his hand through his hair just to feel how soft it was, and then maybe his hand would dip down the other side, down and down to feel his ass.

“Hey,” he said as he approached him, feeling suddenly nervous.

"Hey," Steve replied. "How's the concussion?"

"Just fine," Bucky said. "Ribs are a bitch but I can handle it."

Steve smirked. "I'm sure you can."

Bucky took a breath. “You having fun?”

“I am,” Steve replied. “Just checking to see if you’ve read anything good.”

“You a book snob?”

“Not at all,” Steve grinned. “You clearly aren’t.”

“Hey,” Bucky admonished, and they stood quietly for a moment.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Steve said. “I wasn’t actually going to do anything tonight, so.”

“And now you’re telling me about the books I own,” Bucky said, and Steve pulled a face.

“You know, I could’ve invited Sam and Sharon.”

“The nurses? You know both of them?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you should’ve brought them along. They seemed cool. Sam called you stubborn, though,” Bucky said, poking Steve in the chest. God, he was solid. And standing this close together, Bucky could smell his aftershave, something woody and fresh.

“Sam is right,” Steve said. He took a pull from his beer.

“You stubborn about a lot of things?” Bucky asked, unaware of exactly how and when this conversation had tilted into _pure, mindless flirting_ territory.

Steve’s eyes were intent on Bucky’s, darting down once to his mouth. “I’d say I’m just determined to get what I want,” he said lowly, and if Bucky could’ve, he would said _oh, fuck_ , and dropped to his knees right there and then.

Instead, he just stared, and then jumped when people in the room began to count down.

“Shit, midnight already?” he said. He set down his glass and wiped his free hand on his thigh. “Quick, what are your new year's resolutions?”

Steve had set down his beer at some point as well. He was moving in closer, almost crowding Bucky in against his books.

“I have a few things in mind,” Steve said, a hand touching Bucky’s hip. “But I think I’m gonna complete them pretty quickly.”

And then everyone was screaming _happy new year_ and Bucky was unable to hold back any longer, putting his free arm around Steve’s neck and kissing him, taking him slightly by surprise, possibly, maybe ruining his suave seduction, but then he was carefully winding his arms around Bucky, pulling him gently against his chest, and everything in Bucky’s head shrunk down to focus on Steve’s mouth, on his hands burning into him through his shirt, on the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck.

Finally they pulled away, panting slightly. Steve laughed.

“You need a new plan,” Bucky said, hand sliding down to Steve’s bicep.

“Alright,” Steve said. “Go on a date with me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I said a _new_ plan,” he said. “As in something that you’ll actually have to put effort into if you want to make it happen.”

“You saying you’re easy?” Steve asked, eyes shining. Bucky leaned in and kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Only when I’m concussed, Rogers,” he said, and then Steve was laughing, and Bucky thought about how lucky he was after all, to have fallen from that godamn ladder.

**Author's Note:**

> saturnblushes on tumblr and pinterest


End file.
